Chapter 12 Sloane
SLOANE
Two nights.
That’s how long it’s been since he kissed me. A little over forty-eight hours since I felt his lips against mine. Since he touched me. Since I tasted him.
He sits at the counter, pretending like I don’t exist. He’s been doing that today. He’s been home for a few hours, seemingly lost in his own head.
“You ok?” I ask, my fingers fiddling with my phone to keep myself busy.
“Mhmm,” he hums, typing away on his computer.
“Is it work stuff?” I probe.
“Yup.”
My head falls back in frustration. Why is he like a fucking brick wall? “Ok, whatever,” I mumble under my breath. I get when I’m not wanted.
I turn on my heel, heading outside so that I can go lie on the deck and look up at the stars for a little bit.
“Hey, you okay?” I try again as I slide a plate of chocolate chip cookies over to him. The ones that I made the night we kissed the first time.
“I’m fine,” he mumbles, just staring down at his plate that he heated up awhile go. I’m sure it’s cold by now.
“You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong, but you don’t have to lie to me, either,” I mutter, turning around and focusing on cleaning up the kitchen.
My biggest pet peeve is when people lie to me.
I already struggle trusting people. I’ve been dealing with liars my whole life, and I hate it.
Even just little ones like the one he just gave me.
My therapist says that it probably stems from the fact that I was lied to my whole childhood in order for people to save themselves from telling me the truth.
He doesn’t say anything while I wipe down the counters or when I straighten up the appliances. He even stays quiet while I get the supplies out to make my sleepy-time tea.
“You don’t like hiking, right?”
I bite my lip. Is he worried about me? “No, I’m not one who cares much for exercising outdoors.”
“Good.”
The way that he stares at his plate makes me nervous. Maybe I don’t want to know what he’s talking about.
“Why?”
It takes him a moment to answer. “Because I think The Ghost Killer is back.”
The answer makes my blood run cold. I have to close my eyes to take the information in, but even that doesn’t stop the chill that runs through me.
“He—They only attack people that go out at night, though, right?” I whisper.
“I’d like to say yes, but this person, whoever they are…
is unpredictable. If this is the same person, there are now five young women who have gone missing, maybe even more.
They are getting braver now; two victims were hit within three months of each other.
Whereas last time, it was only a couple of victims a year. ”
“Oh…”
“I don’t want to scare you, I just want you to be aware. You’re probably safe, but you never know,” he whispers, his eyes meeting mine.
I nod, feeling nervous all of a sudden. He breaks eye contact first, and I go back to sipping my tea, trying not to focus on how I feel his eyes burning a hole in the side of my head as I stand at the stove.
“Would you like some?” I ask, looking over my shoulder at him. He nods his head, so I grab a second mug and more teabags and prep two cups.
“Here,” I say, handing it to him. Leaving the kitchen, I move over to the couch and sit down, turning on the TV and scrolling to find a movie.
I hear his chair scrape against the hardwood floor before he sits next to me on the couch, his shoulder just barely brushing mine when he leans back against the cushions.
I feel a spark of warmth shoot through my arm, the same kind that rushed through me when he kissed me.
I bring my cup to my lips, take a sip, before leaning forward and placing it on the coffee table. He mimics my motion, and when he leans back a second time, his hand once again brushes mine.
His hands are on his thighs, his fingers just centimeters away from mine. A part of me wants to reach out and lace them together. I stare at his hands for far longer than is considered normal.
His hands are much larger than mine, strong, calloused, and I like the way he touches me, like I am something worth holding.
“Sloane,” he whispers, and I awkwardly clear my throat, my cheeks turning pink.
“Mhmm?” I hum, looking up to find him already looking at me. His eyes, God, I could get lost in them. I find myself leaning closer. Our foreheads touch, and our breath mingles.
“We shouldn’t…” he whispers. I know that he’s right, but I want this, I want him.
“Just one more, just for us to make sure we shouldn’t,” I whisper, and that’s all it takes for him to press his lips to mine.
His hands come up to cup my cheeks, and I can’t stop myself from leaning even farther into him. From soaking up every second of his touch.
His lips move softly against mine. He picks me up and pulls me into his lap, as if I don’t weigh anything.
Beckett’s hand tangles into my hair, and he tips my head back, his lips finding the skin there.
“Baby, you can’t make those noises.”
I almost fall apart right here and now when he calls me baby. I’ve never had a pet name before, but I like the way he says it. The way that it falls from his lips.
“Sorry,” I whisper, pressing my lips back to his.
I like being close to him like this. “Don’t apologize,” he whispers against my lips.
His hands stay on my hips as he kisses me, taking his time, not rushing me, and letting me set the pace.
I pull away when I need air, leaning our foreheads together.
I don’t know where the sudden insecurity comes from, but it hits me hard and fast. “Beck, I’ll crush you,” I whisper, trying to get off him.
“No, you won’t,” he growls, his hands staying firmly on my hips, not letting me go anywhere.
“I’m too heavy to be sitting in your lap,” I argue.
“Stop it, I bench more than you for a warmup. Don’t say that.”
I mean, that is kinda hot, but still. I can’t help but feel like I’m still the same fat whale that he knew from years ago.
“Can’t I just sit next to you?” I ask quietly, my eyes unable to meet his.
One of his hands lifts my chin so that I’m looking him in the eyes. He stays quiet for a few seconds before letting out a small sigh.
“Sure,” he says, kissing my forehead before letting go of me. He allows me to slide off his lap and sit on the couch next to him.
“Just so you know, you’re beautiful just the way you are,” he whispers, kissing the top of my head.
I don’t say anything, I just snuggle into him, unable to stop the small smile that makes its way onto my lips.
As I lie on the lawn, I can’t help but think about him. About everything that has happened already this summer, and that I can’t stop myself from not liking him.
This stupid crush just gets bigger and bigger every time I see him.
I try to distract myself by looking up at the stars. I don’t even remember the last time I really looked up at the sky. You can’t see them as well in Athens as you can here. Up in the mountains, it’s like the air is so much more crisp, more breathable.
I lie out on a blanket in the backyard. I wonder when Beckett is coming home. I look down at my phone to see it’s almost eleven. He must be home by now.
Lucky for me, I don’t have to go investigate. I hear the patio door open and close. A few minutes later, he sits down next to me.
“How many have you had?” he asks, picking up the empty beer bottle on the grass.
“Just the one,” I tell him honestly.
“Can I ask why?”
He lies down next to me and gently takes my hand in his, lacing our fingers together.
I want to pull away. I want to run away and hide. Because this right here is the reason why.
It’s been three days of complete and utter silence from him. I don’t understand. One second, he’s kissing me, telling me I’m beautiful, cuddling me on the couch, and the next, he’s making it his goal to avoid me at all costs.
It hurts a lot more than I want to admit.
I finally found some kind of companionship in a person, and I’ve ruined it. That’s what I do, I poison everything good around me.
“You really wanna know, Beckett? You wanna know why I drank one whole beer?” I ask with a small, bitter laugh.
“Yeah, I do,” he whispers, rolling onto his side so that he can look at me.
I want to look at him, I want to see his eyes. Maybe have him pull me closer. I hate that I’m willing to forgive him so easily, that I’m willing to just forget the way he’s made me feel the last few days.
But I guess that’s what happens when you’re lonely. You’ll do anything if it means you have someone to sit in the quiet with you.
“You, Beckett. You are the reason why,” I whisper, finally rolling onto my side to face him. “You’re so fucking confusing. One minute you’re great, we’re laughing, talking, and you’re holding my hand. Then the next minute, you’re cold and not talking to me. Shutting me out like I don’t even exist.”
“Do you want to know why?” he whispers, pulling me closer to him.
His eyes find mine in the dark, the porch light casting a small glow onto our faces. He looks good right now, like he does all the time. He’s freshly showered, wearing a plain tee and some sweats.
“Yeah,” I whisper, letting him pull me closer. Our chests almost touching, our noses just inches apart.
“Because I can’t help myself when I’m around you. I want things that I shouldn’t, and the closer I get to you, the harder it is for me to push you away.”
“Then don’t push me away,” I whisper, my eyes closing as his lips almost brush mine. They are so close that I could lean forward the smallest amount, and I would be able to capture them.
“You have no idea how much I want to do that. But I can’t, Sloane, your dad…”
I let out a frustrated huff. He’s right. I know we shouldn’t do this. There are so many things that are wrong with this, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting him. “I don’t give a fuck about Briar. What has he ever done for me other than make my life miserable?” I ask.
He reaches over and tucks a piece of hair behind my ear, and I can’t help but lean into his touch.
“Sloane…”
“Please, just one more kiss.”